


Hit Me Baby (One More Time)

by Llama1412



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Gags, Impact Play, M/M, Marking, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24657241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: Jaskier desperately wants physical evidence of Geralt’s love for him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 232
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	Hit Me Baby (One More Time)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mix_kid_ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mix_kid_ao3/gifts).



The first time had been an accident. Geralt had grabbed his arm to move him out of the way of a monster attack, and his grasp had been a little too hard. Later, when Jaskier took off his doublet to see the clear bruises around his upper arm, he felt a little thrill of pleasure.

It may have been an accident, but Geralt had marked him. He’d protected Jaskier, and his care had left a visible sign.

Jaskier found himself unaccountably disappointed when the bruises started fading. It had been nice, having physical evidence that somebody cared.

Fortunately, once he and Geralt got together, Geralt was more than happy to suck and bite marks up his neck and over his shoulders and up his thighs. And it was good, it was!

But it wasn’t enough. 

He wanted – well, he wasn’t sure what he wanted. But he knew that when he saw the physical evidence that Geralt loved him, it made his chest feel warm and his stomach get all fluttery. The problem was, the hickies faded so fast. And they weren’t – he didn’t – he wasn’t sure how to say it. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them. He  _ loved _ when Geralt used teeth – which was fortunate, because Geralt loved to use them. 

It was more like – it wasn’t enough. Not enough of a mark, not enough evidence that he was Geralt’s, that a Witcher had looked at him and decided he was worth loving. He wanted to world to know it and the hickies just weren’t  _ enough. _

So Geralt slowly started getting rougher with him. Touching him with bruising strength, pushing him around to get him in the position he wanted – or just to win their arguments, the bastard. Geralt left finger shaped marks on his thighs, on his hips, on his waist, on his ass, and Jaskier thought it would be enough. It really should have been.

But it wasn’t. Jaskier wanted more. 

The first hint of the answer lurking ever out of his reach actually came when they weren’t having sex at all. In fact, Jaskier had been about to thrown down with some asshole who’d spit in Geralt’s face and cursed him. He would not stand for that sort of treatment of his friend, who was noble and  _ good _ and definitely better than this soon to be cockless bastard!

Geralt had grabbed his wrist, grip tight, and then flung him over Geralt’s shoulder before he could start the fight.

“Geralt! What the hell, let me go! That sonuva bitch is gonna pay!” He struggled against Geralt’s grip, but his strength was no match for a Witchers.

“Apologies for the trouble,” Geralt nodded to the tavern owners. “We’ll be leaving.” And then, with Jaskier still tossed over his shoulder, ass in the air, Geralt walked out of the tavern and headed back to Roach.

“What the fuck, Geralt!? I could have taken him!”

“No!” Geralt swatted Jaskier’s ass sharply and Jaskier gasped. “You can’t keep getting into fights! You’re going to get us kicked out of the few towns that will actually serve me!” He emphasized his point by bringing his hand down again and Jaskier let out the tiniest whimper. “Jaskier?”

Geralt quickly moved to set him on his own feet, and when he stepped back, he was clearly able to see the bulge in the front of Jaskier’s trousers. Jaskier cleared his throat. “You should do that again.”

Geralt blinked, then stalked forward, growling, “What, punish a brat for starting another fight?” 

Jaskier shivered. “Yes!”

“Gladly,” Geralt’s gravely voice was even deeper than normal and he pushed Jaskier into the empty stall next to Roach in the stables. “Bend over, trousers around your ankles.”

Jaskier shivered. Anyone could walk by and see them, see Geralt leaving his mark on Jaskier.

He was moving before he was aware of it, tripping over his pants in his haste. Geralt laughed. “Always so eager.”

“Shut up and hit me,” Jaskier ordered.

“Gladly,” Geralt joked and brought his hand down on Jaskier’s ass with a loud  _ smack.  _

Jaskier jerked and moaned. “Again!”

Geralt brought his hand down, again and again until Jaskier could feel the heat radiating from the red skin, until he finally felt marked and satisfied.

When Geralt finished, Jaskier’s words were coming out in slurs. Geralt shushed him, easing his trousers up over his ass, and picked him up, carrying him into the woods outside town where they made camp.

Geralt’s handprints on his ass looked lovely, according to the Witcher, but even better, in Jaskier’s opinion, was that he  _ felt _ the bruising constantly. Walking next to Roach, he could feel the throbbing with every step. Feeling it reminded him of Geralt’s love for him, of the fact that anything he asked, Geralt would make happen. Even though it hurt to walk, he skipped next to Geralt’s side on their way to the next village.

––

The spanking was satisfying for a time, but eventually, he wanted more. They were walking through a forest the day the next idea occurred to Jaskier. He’d seen a branch that would have been perfect to play with the way he would have as a kid, squishing it through the air quickly like a whip.

Jaskier didn’t stop for that specific branch. But he did keep thinking about it until he had the chance to go find a good one. He wanted a thin bendy branch, perfect for leaving welts behind on his skin. Even just the thought made Jaskier shiver in excitement.

When he found the perfect branch, he couldn’t help running his fingers over in, imaging the sting it could hit with in Geralt’s expert hands.

Geralt was hesitant at first, when Jaskier presented his find that night after they’d made camp “If I do this wrong, you could seriously be hurt.”

“I trust you, Geralt.” Jaskier smiled at him. “Besides, I know for a fact that you’ve asked healers about the safest ways to do this, even though your face burns at the idea of talking about it.” He cupped Geralt’s face in his palms and pecked a kiss on his lips. “Thank you, for taking care of me. I know you will, that’s why I trust you.”

Geralt pulled him into a kiss and Jaskier eagerly licked into his mouth. Geralt bit down hard on Jaskier’s bottom lip and he moaned into Geralt’s mouth. 

Geralt drew back and ordered, “Assume the position.”

Jaskier scrambled out of his clothing, not even caring if they got dirty where he dropped them. He placed his palms against the bark of a tree and bent in half.

Geralt made him wait for the first hit, twisting his wrist around to make the switch whistle through the air. Finally, the first mark fell across the back of his upper thighs and Jaskier let out a whine.

“Again,” he begged, and Geralt obliged him, whipping the branch across his ass. Jaskier moaned at the line of fire it left in its wake. He imagined the welts this would cause, imagined being able to feel the inflamed skin with his fingers, perhaps even through his clothes. That would be lovely, to be able to check any time that Geralt had claimed him, just by touching the mark. “More, please, more,” he moaned.

Geralt hushed him, swishing the branch through the air. When it finally came down in a stripe of pain across the backs of his thighs, Jaskier arched into it. The next blow came down just slightly above the previous one and Jaskier loved the idea of tracing overlapping marks, of drawing out patterns from the marks of Geralt’s love. 

Jaskier must have gotten lost in the fantasy, because suddenly there was a hand in his hair, pulling his head back. As his eyes fluttered open to meet Geralt’s, Jaskier realized that the high pitched sound he heard was coming from him. The litany of  _ please please please _ fell from his mouth without input from his brain, and he couldn’t seem to get himself to stop.

Geralt brought the switch down right against the spot where his ass met his thighs, and Jaskier arched with a wail, his pleas growing louder. 

“You’re going to bring predators down on us with all this noise,” Geralt said, as if he didn’t love driving Jaskier wild and noisy. Geralt stepped away from him and Jaskier whimpered, almost turning to follow him. “Don’t move!”

The witcher’s bark had Jaskier immediately back in position, hands braced against the tree. He could hear Geralt’s quiet footsteps move around, perhaps looking for something, and then Geralt clicked his tongue and started moving back towards Jaskier. Instead of taking up position to hit him, though, Geralt circled around until he was pressing a hand to Jaskier’s mouth.

Jasier could feel the rough bark of a stick against his lips and he opened around it, clamping it between his teeth. “Good boy,” Geralt murmured and stepped back. “And good boys deserve a reward, don’t they?”

Jaskier’s whine was muffled by his makeshift gag, but it didn’t matter because Geralt brought the switch down across his ass immediately, and the swish of the branch and impact with his skin could clearly be heard now. Jaskier shivered. Something about that made it even better, to know that each sound was Geralt marking him and that  _ Geralt _ wanted to hear the sounds, even if it meant silencing Jaskier. 

Honestly, Jaskier was kind of okay with that. He dug his teeth into the branch and arched back into the next strike. It landed diagonally across his left cheek and Jaskier pictured the way the mark would look, one red line overlapping a dozen others. 

He felt soft hands sliding across his back at the same time another blow landed across his upper thighs and the conflicting sensations made something hot coil tight in Jaskier’s belly. He could feel the care, the concern, the  _ love  _ in the gentle strokes along his sides. At the same time, the harsh slap of the switch, the fire racing along his skin, and the red puffy marks left in their place were equally signs of Geralt’s care. Geralt was doing this for him, because he asked, because he  _ wanted  _ Geralt to, and because Geralt was who he was, the witcher made sure that he could give Jaskier what he wanted in the best way possible.

There was a reason Jaskier wanted to carry Geralt’s marks. Geralt was sweet and caring and gruff and mostly spoke in grunts, and worked hard to make sure that Jaskier had everything he wanted. Leaning his forehead against the bark of the tree he braced against, Jaskier felt a smile pulling at his lips. 

Another blow fell across Jaskier’s ass and his smile only grew. Each and every hit was Geralt saying he loved Jaskier, and Jaskier wanted all of them.

Geralt eventually stopped, though Jaskier wasn’t fully aware of when. All he knew was that his thighs and ass ached pleasantly and Geralt’s arms were wrapped around him, carrying him somewhere. 

“G’ralt?” He slurred.

“Shh,” Geralt hushed. “Just getting us set up by the fire.” 

Geralt sat down cross legged on the ground and set Jaskier in his lap, arranging the bard how he wanted him. Like this, Jaskier’s weight was supported by his back pressed to Geralt’s front and the backs of his legs, where they draped forward in front of him. It was perfect – the marks still hurt, red and swollen, but Geralt was sparing him the need to put any further weight on them. And, even better, Geralt had snagged his lute and set it beside Jaskier, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s waist.

“This your way of asking me to play?”

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted noncommittally.

Jaskier tilted his head until it leaned against Geralt’s and held the lute in his own lap. “I’m taking that as a yes.” He plucked absently at the strings rather than forcing his sluggish mind to identify a song to play. Besides, there was something beautiful in the way his unconscious tune filled the camp, the sound wrapping around him. Even more beautiful was the humming, almost too quiet to hear. Where his back was pressed against Geralt’s chest, he could feel the witcher’s voice vibrating in his chest.

They spent the rest of the evening like that, soft music drifting through the forest, and in the morning, Jaskier was indeed able to trace his fingers over the welts along his thigh and know that each one showed how much Geralt love him.


End file.
